


Arrested Development

by SideshowStarlet



Series: Arrested Development [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Barty Crouch Jr Appreciation 2k19, Barty Crouch Jr raises Harry, Barty Jr and Sirius banter, Barty Jr and Sirius share an odd friendship, Barty Jr is an animagus, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Harry is Barty Jr's little prince, Harry raised in Azkaban, No romance but ho-yay if you really squint, Sirius Black helps raise Harry, Some Humor, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 12:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17849246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SideshowStarlet/pseuds/SideshowStarlet
Summary: Young Harry, abused by the Dursleys, is magically transported to Azkaban. However, Magic has a terrible sense of direction, and instead of ending up with Sirius, Harry winds up in the cell next door. Barty Crouch Jr. is convinced that the Dark Lord gifted him with Harry Potter to raise as the future leader of the Death Eaters. Sirius just wants to raise his godson. An unlikely friendship, and an even more unlikely family, forms.





	Arrested Development

**Author's Note:**

> I've never seen this done before, so I wanted to give it a try. I love the character of Barty Crouch Jr. He's so underappreciated in the fandom! May make this into a series or leave as a one-shot.

Magic was a rare gift. It didn't like to be squandered. It especially didn't take kindly to Muggles attempting to brutalize witches and wizards. So, when Magic sensed a small, magically powerful child being beaten by a brutish oaf of a Muggle, it intervened. 

Magic was kind to those who held the gift and used it well. It was practical- the boy had a magical godfather, hadn't he? He'd better go to him, even if he wasn't in the best of circumstances. Magic wasn't one to judge holders of its gifts. Besides, it knew the boy's godfather would care for him. That would be enough. 

Magic worked quickly. The sobbing boy was instantly transported to a prison cell in a miserable building on an island in the middle of the North Sea. 

If Magic had a fault, it would be a terrible sense of direction. Instead of ending up in the cell of Sirius Black, Harry Potter wound up in the cell next door. 

Barty Crouch Jr. really was too young to be a father. In fact, the screaming toddler had interrupted his own anguished howls for his mother. At first, he was too focused on his own painful memories- his mother's illness, his father's rejection, his Lord's fall- to even notice another voice adding to the torment. As his tortured mind played back the scene of Bellatrix telling him that the Dark Lord had fallen, he heard a voice that wasn't his own screaming "Mama! Mama!" Bellatrix had been insane with grief, true, but she hadn't reacted like that.  
His confusion provided a temporary reprieve from the anguish. He opened his eyes. His vision still blurred with tears, he made out a small boy curled up on the floor of his cell. He blinked. The boy was still there. Blink. Boy. Blink. Boy. He wasn't going anywhere. 

Too weak to stand after three days in Azkaban, Barty crawled to the other side of his small cell to investigate. He leaned over the crying child for a second before cautiously poking his back with a forefinger, feeling skin and bone. He was real, then. However, Barty's curious touch only caused the child to howl more loudly. "I'm sorry!" the boy sobbed, rolling away from Barty and screaming even more loudly once he managed to roll onto his back. 

Barty followed the boy across the cell and knelt over the distressed child. Though a clever man, he hadn't thought of anything besides his worst memories since being thrown into Azkaban. His head was foggy, the gears in his brain spinning more slowly than usual. Barty brought his hands to his ears to muffle the sound of the child's cries. He resisted the urge to sob himself. His own mind was beginning to fail him. What would his Lord do? 

His Lord... his Lord was gone. His Lord who had been like a father to him. Who had seen his cleverness, his power, his _loyalty_ and welcomed him into his family of Death Eaters- his inner circle. 

_He had knelt, awed, at the feet of the Dark Lord. His Lord slipped a long, pale finger under Barty's chin and raised the man's bowed head until Barty found himself looking into the Dark Lord's red eyes. He could feel his Lord rifling around his mind, looking for any hint of treachery or disloyalty. Barty willingly let down his Occlumency shields- he had nothing to hide. The Dark Lord smiled and let out a pleased hum. "You'll serve me well, Barty," he hissed, "But first-" he pointed his wand at Barty's head, "Imperio!"_

_Barty found himself floating away from the decrepit manor they were in, abandoning his fear of the snake-like man standing before him, his anger at his biological father, even his worry for his ailing mother. It felt glorious- like he could do anything but was too at peace to even move. It felt right kneeling in this spot. He became aware of the Dark Lord carding a hand through his hair and cooed in pleasure.  
The Dark Lord's wand tapped his shoulder. "Crucio," said a high, cold, cruel voice. A voice he would follow to the ends of the Earth. Daggers pierced his skin; his nerves twisted into painful knots; his muscles tightened around his bones, shattering them. Even as he screamed in pain, he knew that the torment was what the Dark Lord wanted for him. As such, he could never be whole without it. "Give me your wand," the Dark Lord's voice floated through the abyss. Barty immediately dropped it at his Lord's feet. _

_"One of our Muggle prisoners chafes at my magical restraints," his Lord informed him, and through the unbearable pain, Barty felt a surge of anger at the ungrateful Muggle fighting against what the Dark Lord bestowed upon him. The Dark Lord chuckled, knowing Barty's thoughts better than Barty knew his own. "There's no sense casting pearls before swine," he continued. "He'll have to be subdued the Muggle way."_

_Despite the pain, Barty perked up. A chance to obey his Lord and to put this Muggle in his place._

_The brutish Muggle was made stronger with worry over his missing family (Dead, but the bodies haven't been found yet). The stabbing pain of the Cruciatus, combined with the blunt force of meaty fists assaulting his face reduced his view of the world to a bright white light. Yet, he could hear his Lord's voice in his head, telling him where and when to punch, kick, and dodge. Those instructions kept him alive, kept him safe. Thank you, My Lord._

_He didn't know how long he fought. By the time the weight of the unconscious Muggle lay against his chest, Barty was covered in cuts and bruises. Mercifully, the Dark Lord lifted the Cruciatus. Barty had a few seconds to enjoy the floating lightness without the torturous pain before his Lord ended the Imperius curse as well.  
_

__

__

_Despite the Muggle-inflicted injuries and the after-effects of the Cruciatus, Barty managed to wriggle out from under the Muggle's unconscious body and pulled himself back up to a kneeling position. The Dark Lord smiled approvingly and tossed Barty his wand. "Kill him," he ordered._

_Barty cast Avada Kedavra without a second thought._

_"You have proven yourself, Barty," his Lord whispered. He took Barty's left hand and waved his wand over Barty's forearm. Barty clenched his jaw to keep himself from crying out in pain as his arm burned. After a few minutes, his left forearm was branded with a skull with a snake coming out of its mouth. The Dark Mark. He wasn't Bartemius Crouch's son anymore. He belonged to the Dark Lord. Despite the pain from his Muggle-inflicted injuries, the Dark Mark, and the after-effects of the Cruciatus Curse, he felt protected. Despite his shaking hands and legs, he felt powerful. Despite the brand declaring him a slave to the Dark Lord, he felt free._

And now, his Lord was gone. The despair was like a bucket of ice cold water waking him from a pleasant dream. He had nothing but memories. Luckily, many of these memories involved excruciating pain, so the Dementors allowed him to recall them. He turned his attention back to the still-crying child. His Lord... if he were still here... he would make the child prove himself, as Barty had to prove himself. Satisfied with that line of thought, Barty watched the child avidly. How had he gotten in here, anyway? It didn't matter. He still needed to prove his worth. 

Several Dementors became alerted to the despair emanating from Barty's cell and glided over to bask in it. They huddled over Barty and the crying child. Barty shrank into himself, defenseless against the Dementors. The boy screamed, if possible, even more loudly. Then, a silver shield popped into existence, protecting the boy from the Dementors. Barty, kneeling close to the boy, was on the fringes of the shield, causing him to feel a moderate amount of relief. The Dementors didn't flee, but they backed up far enough to allow for rational thought. The boy... had proven himself.

The child had finally stopped screaming, but he was still whimpering in pain. Gingerly, he lifted him and cradled the boy to his chest. He tried to rub his back soothingly, but this made the child even more upset. He was wearing some ragged-looking Muggle clothes at least three sizes too big, and... were those bloodstains? Barty carefully pulled up the back of the boy's shirts to find cuts up and down the child's back. They were long and narrow, appearing to have come from a belt. His Lord was right- Muggles were truly barbaric to treat an obviously magical child like this.  
Not only had the boy proven himself, but he was still keeping the Dementors far enough away to allow Barty to think more clearly than he had in days. Barty was no Healer, but he did know some wandless healing spells. One good turn deserves another. 

Barty waved a hand over the boy's cuts, and they gradually disappeared. Once his back healed, the boy let out an exhausted sigh and immediately fell asleep. Barty used the thin, ragged blanket he had been issued and swaddled the boy as best he could. He brushed the boy's sweat-soaked fringe away from his face and gasped, nearly dropping the boy. A part of him wondered if his Lord would have preferred for him to drop this boy- out the window and into the North Sea. 

The lightning-shaped scar, pictures of which had littered the papers for weeks after the Dark Lord's fall, was on the boy's forehead. The boy who killed his Lord was here, at his mercy. But then, blessed rational thought invaded his mind more quickly than it had since his imprisonment. The boy had helped him. And he was powerful. Perhaps as powerful as his Lord. And Barty had him. Perhaps this was a gift from his Lord. Barty knew the Dark Lord could never be truly gone. Thank you, My Lord, he thought, cradling Harry Potter to his chest.  
Barty managed to get a few hours' rest before the boy's sobs woke him. "Hung-wy, hung-wy," he whimpered. Barty hadn't eaten since he arrived at Azkaban. Three days worth of meals- nine cups of thin, watery gruel- clustered by the door of his cell. Barty shifted over to grab one. He scooped up some repulsive-looking sludge and brought it to the boy's mouth. The boy made a face at the disgusting taste, but he choked it down, seemingly desperate to eat something. 

The normal amount of Dementors were hanging around his cell, but Barty found it easier to face them. Perhaps it was Harry's presence, or perhaps he was getting used to Azkaban. For the first time, he was starting to feel hungry. 

The rotting hand of a Dementor deposited yet another cup of gruel in Barty's cell. Barty abandoned the mug he had been feeding Harry from and grabbed the fresh one. At least the boy's breakfast could be warm and- he sniffed the mug- somewhat fresh. 

Harry wound up finishing about half a cup of gruel. That was... probably enough for now. Barty wasn't sure how much children were supposed to eat. Right now, they had a more pressing concern. Barty could feel the wetness when the boy sat on his lap. And the smell emanating from him was much stronger than the usual smell of despair and unwashed bodies. Harry was squirming in obvious discomfort.  
Barty choked down some day-old gruel, wanting to save the warm cup for Harry in case he got hungry again before lunch and sat for a few minutes, gathering his strength. 

Every cell had a bar of soap and a rusted pipe that delivered lukewarm water at the tap of a hand. In theory, it kept the prisoners clean, but nobody ever had the will to shower. Once Barty felt like he could safely stand, he carried the boy to the pipe and stripped the child out of his dirty clothes. The pants and shirt, though ragged, could be washed and reworn. The underwear was not only soiled, but also made out of some strange, cheap, plasticy material. Muggles truly were barbarians. Barty was now more convinced than ever that his Lord had somehow rescued this powerful boy from horrible Muggles and gifted Harry to him. _His Lord was still out there! His Lord was wise! Barty would take care of the boy, and Harry would grow into the powerful wizard he was meant to be. Barty would be the father that Crouch Sr. could never be until his Lord returns and..._

His manic grin froze. He was getting too happy, attracting more Dementors to his cell. He sobered, determinedly focusing on the task at hand. A task that nobody could possibly take pleasure in, even when doing it for his future Lord. He tore off part of his Azkaban uniform to fashion a makeshift cloth diaper for the child to wear underneath his awful Muggle clothes. It looked awkward, but Harry seemed comfortable enough.  
Over the next few days, Sirius Black, in the cell next door, watched blankly as Barty Crouch Jr. tended to a familiar-looking boy with messy black hair. (Barty had done his best to tame it, but somehow Sirius knew that the hair would never lay flat, no matter what). Watching Barty with the mysterious boy caused him to be overwhelmed with memories. He frequently found himself transforming into a dog in order to make thinking easier. Still, even as a dog, the boy was still there. 

"Dog!" came a joyful shriek, completely out of place in Azkaban. "A dog, Barty!" 

Barty, holding Harry with his back to Sirius' cell, whirled around, puzzled. Instantly, Sirius turned back into a human. Too late. Barty's eyes, clearer now than they had been since his imprisonment, narrowed. "You can turn into a dog," he said to Sirius. It wasn't a question. 

"No, I can't!" Sirius protested. "Azkaban's making you crazy!" 

"Probably," admitted Barty. "But you still turned yourself into a big, black dog and back again." 

"Dog!" Harry confirmed, pointing at Sirius. 

"Why do you have a kid?" Sirius asked, changing the subject. 

"He's a gift from My Lord!" Barty said, grinning manically and bouncing the small child on his bony hip. His grin faltered as several more Dementors converged on his cell. Barty began muttering Harry's morning routine to himself, knowing that the monotony of the chores would regulate his emotions to the point where he was neither happy enough to attract Dementors nor sad enough to waste away. _"Diaper change, breakfast, diaper change, singing, snacktime, storytime, diaper change, nap, diaper change, lunchtime, playtime, diaper change, dinner, bath, storytime, beddy-bye! Diaper time, breakfast, diaper change, singing-"_

"Oooo-kay," Sirius cut him off as the Dementors got bored and wandered away. "That's... um... a very nice gift." 

"My Lord is most generous!" Barty grinned madly. "Whoops! Diaper change, breakfast, diaper change-" 

The Dementors had perked up hopefully (inasmuch as a group of soul-sucking wraiths could perk up), then turned around, disappointed as Barty lost himself in the rhythmic routine of childcare. 

"Dog!" the boy reminded Barty, reaching up with both hands to turn the man's face towards himself, effectively cutting off another recitation of their daily routine. 

"Oh, yes, of course!" said Barty. "I haven't forgotten!" he lied. The three year old wore a disbelieving expression on his face. "I haven't!" he insisted. The preschooler rolled his eyes, as if to say Get on with it. "How are you a dog?" Barty asked. 

"Well, you see, there's this thing called Magic," Sirius began. 

"I know that!" said Barty. "I mean how can you turn into a dog when everyone else here is practically a vegetable?" He gestured across the hall to the cell of Rodolphus Lestrange, who sat in the corner, occasionally muttering nonsense to himself. 

"How are you able to take care of a kid when everyone else here is a drooling maniac?" Sirius countered. 

The boy gave Sirius a look that suggested that he took care of Barty as much as Barty took care of him. "No offense, kid," said Sirius. 

"Dog," said the boy, forgiving Sirius' slight instantly and wanting to get back to the heart of the matter. 

"I'm an unregistered Animagus," Sirius confessed. "I'm also innocent of the crime for which I was sent to Azkaban. Peter Pettigrew killed all those Muggles, not me. I spend all my time here focusing on my innocence. It's not a happy thought, so the Dementors can't steal it. But it keeps me grounded. Things aren't great, but the knowledge of my innocence keeps me going, helps me keep some of my powers, even though I don't have a wand. When it gets to be too much, I can still transform into a dog. A dog's thoughts are a lot simpler than a human's. A dog can still feel sad, sure, but they'll still be able to eat what's put in front of them. It can keep me alive for another day, for whatever that's worth." This was the longest speech Sirius had made since he was thrown into Azkaban. His voice felt hoarse by the end of it. 

Barty's eyes lit up with a Ravenclaw's love of knowledge. "Teach me!" he pleaded. 

"What? No way!" Sirius protested. This blond-haired mamma's boy was not Marauder material. Also, he was certifiably insane. Okay, so maybe he was a little like a Marauder. 

"Why not?" Barty demanded. 

"It's a Marauder secret," Sirius replied. 

"They'll never know," Barty pointed out. 

Sirius stayed silent. 

"Where are your Marauders now?" Barty persisted. "One's dead, one's grieving said dead Marauder and your apparent betrayal and living underground, and the last one betrayed his friends and landed you here. I'd count not being a Marauder as one of my good qualities." 

"When did you get to be so sane?" Sirius asked, blown away by the well-reasoned argument. 

"The constant routine of caring for my future Lord," said Barty. "If I wallow in misery, he dies, and there will be no glorious revolution. If I get too happy, the Dementors will get carried away and suck out our souls, thus preventing our glorious revolution." Barty kissed the boy's forehead. As he did so, Sirius caught a glimpse of a lightning-shaped scar. The boy was Harry Potter. His godson. How on earth did he get in Azkaban? 

"That's... um... good motivation," said Sirius, deciding he didn't really need to know the details of Barty's _Glorious Revolution._ "How's this? I'll teach you to be an Animagus if you refrain from turning that kid evil." 

"Deal!" said Barty. Really, why on Earth would he want to turn the child evil? Who wants to hang around an evil kid? Harry was a sweet boy who would one day lead the Wizarding World to greatness... _Diaper change, breakfast, diaper change, singing, snacktime,_ he thought hastily as he saw the Dementors stirring. 

And so it began. Sirius had to admit that Barty was a rather good caregiver, in his own... unique... way. There were times when Harry was fussy or decided to test limits just for the Hell of it, like the Marauder he was. And it was a little weird to see Barty calling on the... _Spirit? Ghost?_... of his Lord for patience on these occasions, but whatever got him through Harry's fits and kept his godson on a schedule. And Sirius was a bit unsettled by the way Barty thanked his Lord when Harry had a particularly good day. Still, it was great to hear his godson babble to him again. Harry loved it when Sirius turned into a dog and allowed Harry to pet him through the bars that separated his and Barty's cell. 

Barty was making excellent progress on his Animagus transformation. Within a few months, he could turn flawlessly into a white eagle owl with a black left wing. Harry shrieked with joy to see Barty the owl flying around the cell. 

After Barty mastered his transformation, life greatly improved for the three males. In owl form, Barty could squeeze through the bars in the window. Sirius, as the last living Black, had access to the family fortune. He sent Barty the Owl off with orders for blankets, toys, and chocolate, specifying that his owl would be delivering the purchases. Even though Barty would leave the cell for days at a time, the Dementors would sense Harry occupying the cell. The reduced brain activity was put down to Barty losing what was left of his mind. The man could, in theory, leave Azkaban behind forever, and his escape would go undiscovered until Harry died. But whatever his faults, Sirius knew that Barty would never leave his "Little Lord" alone in Azkaban. Barty was always sure to return with the requested items and gushing praise for how much Harry had grown in the interim. 

While Barty was off picking up purchases, Sirius kept an eye on Harry through the bars between the two cells. Sirius had tried telling Harry stories about his parents, but this only served to make Harry upset and cry for Barty. It struck Sirius that Harry had no real memories of Lily and James. The only good part was that Harry had called Barty "Mama" for about a week after Sirius had tried telling him about Lily. Barty had retaliated by squeezing through the bars as an owl and pecking mercilessly at Sirius's head. Barty said later that this was more of a punishment for him than for Sirius, as Sirius' head was filled with bugs. Sirius pointed out that, as an owl, Barty should enjoy eating bugs. 

"Not bugs that taste like grease!" Barty replied. "Didn't you used to make fun of Snape for that same problem? My cell isn't the only one with a shower!" 

Barty's comments seemed to stir something in Sirius, and, since that argument, he showered at least once every two days. 

Along with bringing packages, Barty was also able to bring news of the outside world. Everyone believed Harry to be with his Muggle relatives. Finding Pettigrew would prove to be finding a needle in a haystack. Without the rat, there would be no way of proving Sirius' innocence. Neither man was keen on informing anyone on the outside that Harry Potter was in Azkaban, though they each had different reasons. Barty wanted to raise his "Young Lord." Sirius wanted his godson in his life. Some would call this selfish. However, Barty had told Sirius about the injuries Harry had come to Azkaban with. He wasn't about to send Harry back to that. 

Perhaps even more valuable was the information Barty was able to provide about Wizarding finance. Barty kept informed about stocks and investments. Sirius was then able to invest in promising businesses and expand the Black family fortune from the... _comfort_... of Azkaban. 

Barty had spoken longingly of the day his father would kick the bucket, leaving him the heir to the Crouch fortune, allowing him to buy Harry expensive gifts like Sirius did. Sirius had pointed out that Crouch Sr. would probably do a much better job disinheriting Barty than his psychotic parents did disowning him. He then promised that any gold Barty needed to make Harry's life better was his. 

When Harry was five, Crouch Sr. and his wife visited Barty's cell. Barty Jr's mother looked ready to keel over right there, while Crouch Sr. simply looked angry. "Mother!" Barty cried in a voice Sirius had never heard him use before. Sirius had seen the man sad before, of course; had even heard him cry. It was inevitable when one lived in close quarters and surrounded by Dementors. This voice sounded like a mixture of grief and false cheer. Barty knelt down to be at eye level with the tiny, frail witch, the same way Sirius had seen him crouch down to Harry's level a thousand times. He reached his thin arms through the bars to hug his mother. Mrs. Crouch clung to him and sobbed. Barty's father allowed a few moments for the two to reunite before gently pulling his wife away. He kept one hand on her elbow and wrapped his other arm around her waist, steadying her. He spoke a few words to Barty. Barty shook his head, still on his knees. Mrs. Crouch sobbed louder and reached out for her son again. Barty paused. When he spoke next, his voice sounded more hopeful. He turned around and called out to Harry, who had been hiding under the bedding. 

Harry hurried over and regarded the elderly witch and wizard curiously. Barty had explained earlier that these people were his mama and dada and that he needed to hide from them or he would never see Barty again. The witch tentatively reached out to him, while the wizard glared at him suspiciously and shook his head. "I'm not leaving without Harry," Barty said firmly. 

Disgusted, the elderly wizard dragged the frail, sobbing witch away. Barty collapsed in a heap on the floor and held Harry close to him. Harry squirmed in Barty's lap. "Turn into a dog, Sirius!" Harry commanded. Sirius obliged. "You!" Harry addressed Barty, slapping the man's face with a small hand, bringing him back to earth. "Eat this chocolate!" He dug into the pocket of his play robe and pulled out a chocolate bar. "Then go pet that dog!" 

"Yes m'Lord," Barty mumbled, lost in his own world, one ruled by Harry and the Dark Lord. He stayed focused enough on his immediate tasks to keep his emotions under control, preventing the Dementors from feasting on them. 

One bar of chocolate and fifteen minutes of rubbing Sirius' tummy later, Barty was feeling almost normal. Sirius turned back into a human, and both men determinedly ignored mentioning how much Sirius enjoyed having his belly rubbed. 

"I would have tried to get you out, too, but I knew that was a no-go. Still, I thought there was a chance they would take Harry, too. If my mum was stronger..." Here, Barty paused and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I reckon she would have been able to talk my father into it." 

"No sense bringing that up," said Sirius. "The Dementors do enough of that for us." 

"Yeah," said Barty. 

The pair sat in silence for a few minutes, watching Harry play with the toy broomstick Sirius and Barty had given him for his fifth birthday. 

"Turn into an owl," Sirius said, seeing the troubled expression on his... friend's? Ally's? Co-parent's?... face. 

"What do you need me to get?" Barty asked. 

"Nothing," said Sirius. "Just turn into an owl and fly around your cell with Harry. He'll enjoy it." 

Barty transformed and flew circles around Harry on his toy broomstick. Harry giggled madly, a perfect copy of Barty's manic laugh. Sirius had transformed back into a dog and barked loudly, warning them of a swarm of Dementors set to feast on Harry's infectious happiness. Barty the Owl bit Harry's nose and yanked at the boy's hair. The pain helped quiet the giggles, causing the Dementors to find some other soul to torment for the moment. Sirius stood on his hind legs against the bars separating the cells and barked joyfully, watching his godson fly as high as the toy broomstick allowed. 

Barty enjoyed the opportunity to view Harry through an owl's uncomplicated thought process. He existed to care for Harry. Owls don't engage in the long-term planning that would allow Barty to daydream, as he was wont to do as a human, about Harry ruling at the Dark Lord's side. An owl's devotion wasn't a sufficiently happy memory to attract the Dementors. Barty simply saw Harry and knew in his avian soul that his purpose was to give everything to Harry- toys; clothes; chocolate; his own blood, sweat, and tears. He belonged to Harry. 

His Lord smiled, lips pressed firmly closed to prevent loud laughter from escaping again. His green eyes shone with merriment as he chased Barty around the cell. "I'm gonna get you!" he called.

 _I'm already yours,_ Barty thought, soaring back to Harry and allowing the boy to catch him like a feathery Quaffle.


End file.
